Sextet of Statuettes
by pkmndaisuki
Summary: Things have started to settle down at 221b, but they're about to bubble up for a certain DI. Faces from his past are coming to town, and his story will be told.
1. 1

**A/N**: This is the third installment of my speculative AU. This time, the actual case is based around "The Adventure of The Six Napoleons." However, the case itself is told through flashbacks. (You also might notice a slight reference to the cartoon "Sherlock Holmes of the 22nd Century"!) The Sherlock Holmes series belongs to ACD. The programme Sherlock belongs to Gatiss and Moffat.

The Viewpoint of DI Greg Lestrade

Today is _not_ going to be a good day. I just know it. Not only is the one man I hate more than that Moriarty bloke coming back to London, but I'm going to have to work with him again. After what he and my ex-wife did to me... and what about my kids? Ugh. Now, I'll admit, he's a good detective. Knows his stuff. But he's not a good person, by any stretch. Neither is my ex, though I'm still loathe to say it aloud for some reason. Especially after how she's been keeping me from seeing my kids.

I'm massaging my forehead, pinching my brow, running my hands over my face, pacing my office, just... all manner of fidgeting. I'm anxious. Nervous. I can _not_ wait for this day to end.

There's a knock at my door. It's Donovan. She looks concerned. I signal for her to come in.

"Incomin'," is all she says.

"Oh, God, he's here?" I ask wearily.

"Yeah, and he looks pissed. Any clue why?"

"_I'll_ tell you why: He's got Beth holed up somewhere," _that_ man bellows. All full bearded, grey-templed, dark-eyed six-foot-two of him. Where the hell does he get off accusing me of something like that?

"Sorry? I haven't seen her in eight years. And, I actually have some decency, and would never kidnap my own daughter, you arse." I immediately regret adding that derogatory, despite how much he deserved it. Man's got a hair-trigger temper. Practically explodes.

"Excuse me? _I'm_ the arse? After what you did to Linda?" he asks pointedly. I shoot up outta my seat at that.

"Me? _Me?_ Just how tightly wound does she have you wrapped round her finger? I didn't do a bleedin' thing!"

"Sir, you might wanna calm down a bit..." Donovan warns. She's right. This is no time for a row. I take a deep breath and slowly sit back down.

"So, is Sal your leash or something now?" he jeers. Donovan shoots him a scowl.

"Back off of her. This is between you and me. Now... if you _can_... calmly explain to me why my daughter isn't at home and just why in the world you think I would take her? The restraining order hasn't worn off yet. Not for another three days." He gives me a skeptical look. "Yes, I've been keeping track, _Gregson_. Seeing as how I'm their father, I should know these things. So, I'm going to ask you again, 'Old Boy Toby'... What happened to my daughter?"

The Viewpoint of Dr John Watson

Today is shaping up to be a good day. At least so far. Sherlock's in a decent mood as he's wrapped up in another cold case, Little Sherlock's spending the day with his Auntie Harry since I promised her she could last week, I don't have work today, and I feel... relaxed. It's good. Though, we're out of milk. Again. So, I'm off to do the shopping. I grab my coat, grab my key, grab my wallet, grab the doorknob, open the door and...

There's a young brunette girl standing in front of me, looking like she was about to knock. She can't be any older than thirteen, by the looks of it.

"Can I help you?" I ask, a bit startled. I take a quick look at her, and she looks like a fairly typical kid. Hair pulled up in a ponytail, pale blue zip-up hoodie, deep green tee, dark jeans, and a pair of red converse. With a little observation, I realise that her outfit is rather thrown together. Sure, I know nothing about kids fashion these days, but I do notice that the hoodie has a broken zipper, one of her sleeves is bulky at the shoulder, hiting that her tee sleeve is caught in it, her jeans are a tad too short, and she's wearing her shoes on the wrong feet, one of them's not even tied properly. So, I think she was in a hurry. The small purple backpack she's wearing is a good indicator that I'm right. Leaving in a hurry, wearing a backpack...

She's run away from home.

"I'm looking for my dad. I need to find him before my step-dad does," she says a bit out of breath. I raise an eyebrow.

"Wha? Who's your dad? What's the rush that you'd run from home to find him?" I ask. Her eyes go wide.

"How'd you know 'bout that? How'd you know I ran?" she murmurs.

"Well, your outfit seems a bit... ah, thrown together. Shoes aren't on right. And, you're wearing a small travel backpack. Not to mention you're by yourself," I answer. She then studies me a bit.

"Wait," she says after a pause. "You're the blogger. Saw your profile photo. Dr Watson, right?"

"Yeah."

"Great! Then maybe you can help me. My name's Bethany. Beth for short. My dad's Detective Inspector Lestrade. Can you take me to where he lives?"

The Viewpoint of DI Greg Lestrade

_"Lestrade, this is Tobias Gregson. You're going to be his partner for a while," the Super tells me, pointing this really tall bearded guy out to me. I offer my hand._

_"Nice to meet you, Gregson. I'm Sergeant Greg Lestrade," I say. He grabs and vigorously shakes my hand, practically crushing it._

_"Oh, no need to be so formal! Just call me Toby. My last partner used to call me 'Old Boy Toby,' so that'll work as well," he says. He then releases my hand. Seeing the sorry state it's in after only a few seconds, he apologises._

_"Don't worry about it. Guess you're one of those 'Don't know my own strength' types, eh?" I ask. We both laugh at this, the Super joining in with his usual chuckle._

_"Seems to me that you're going to get along just fine without me. So, gentlemen, here's your first assignment..."_

"This morning, as I was getting ready to head up here, I went to say goodbye to the kids," Gregson starts.

"_My _kids," I mutter under my breath.

"And when I peek into their rooms, Beth isn't there. She took her toothbrush, a travel pack of toothpaste I was planning on bringing with me, as well as my travel shampoo and conditioner, this old digital watch of hers that she used as an alarm, and that tiny purple backpack of hers, from what we could initially tell. I also noticed this morning that she'd nicked about £50 out of my wallet," he laments.

_"Happy fourth, Beth!" we both announce. Beth is overjoyed. She opens my presents first._

_"A backpack! And a watch! And they're both violet! Yay! Thanks, Dad!" she exclaims, leaping onto me for a hug. Nearly topples us both. She's giggling in my ear and I can't help but chuckle myself._

_"You're welcome, sweetheart. Now, don't forget to see what Mummy got you!"_

"Did she now?" I ask a bit dreamily. "Sorry, just remembering where she got that backpack and watch. How could you let that happen? You're supposed to be her guardian."

"Don't need you berating me for it. You lost them," he retorts. I want to respond with some extremely strong language, but I wisely decide against it. I take another deep breath.

"Just answer the question. And sit down, I'd rather us be on the same level."

The Viewpoint of Dr John Watson

"Your dad's Lestrade? Right, I remember him saying he was a dad a few months ago," I mutter to myself. "Ah, well, I don't know if he's home at the moment. Why don't I phone him and see?" I offer. She nods. I then pull out my phone and find his contact. Beth then grabs at my sleeve.

"If my step-dad already found him, don't let him let on that you're talking about me," she instructs. I nod, and I make the call.

The Viewpoint of DI Greg Lestrade

As Gregson's starting to explain, my phone buzzes.

"Hang on, could be a case update," I say and pick up. "Hello?"

"_Greg? Hey, it's John. Listen, whatever you do, don't let on that you're talking to me,_" he says.

"Okay. What's up?" I ask

"_Where are you, New Scotland Yard?_"

"Yeah."

"_Figured. Well, when you get the chance, let me know when you're headed home. Your daughter came to my doorstep, asking for help to find you. I think she's run off from home._" I act like I'm not stunned by this news as best as I can. Don't want Gregson knowing.

"Got it. I've got a client right now, but I'll let you know. Bye," I say, hanging up the phone.

The Viewpoint of Dr John Watson

I hang up just after he does and pocket my phone.

"I think your stepdad was in the room when I called. Thankfully, he seemed to do what he could to not let on what we were talking about," I add, reassuring Beth. "Why don't we wait inside for him to phone back?" Beth nods and we head back in. As soon as we do, Mrs Hudson comes out of her flat.

"John? I thought I heard you go out to do the shopping?" she remarks.

"Sorry, can't get to that yet. Little girl lost. I'm having her wait here until her dad calls me back," I explain.

"Oh! Anything I can do? I could go out, if you need me to. What is it you need?" she asks. She's our landlady and is asking that. God bless her.

"Milk, primarily. You are a Godsend." I give her a peck on the cheek in thanks, and she goes out, while I lead Beth upstairs. Once we get into the sitting room, she plops down on the couch and checks her watch. Sherlock's at his desk, leaned over, staring at his... no, wait that's mine again. My computer. I don't mind as much, now that he's letting me tell him my passwords instead of him cracking them.

"You must be Beth Lestrade," he says, not moving. Hate it when he does that. Like he's got eyes in the back of his head. Beth looks at me, quizzically. I just shrug, letting her know it's fine.

"Yeah. How'd you know?" she asks. He spins around in his seat and looks right at her.

"You'd be the right age. Look like your father. Saw you out the window. You're rather attached to him, even though you've never heard from him, never seen him, never even received anything he's gotten for you Your mother's done a real good job keeping you apart," he remarks. I'm about to say something to let him know that was a bit out of line, when Beth shoots right back.

"You're right. She has. So, Dad's been trying to send me stuff?"

"Yes. Every year. Christmas and birthdays, for both you and your brother. I can tell you haven't gotten them, though."

"How?" Beth asks. I'm curious myself. I sit down in my armchair and listen to another Sherlock summary.

"Your clothes, watch, and bag. You don't dress 'girly' on a regular basis as your mother seemed to enjoy doing, as I've seen from photographs your father's shown me, that's a sign of rebellion, picking what you want to wear. I know that because you got dressed in a hurry. If you _did_ dress up on a regular basis, you'd know how to get dressed like that very quickly. You got dressed quick, though you seem to be more used to slipping on shoes, rather than tying them, given that you're wearing the wrong shoes on the wrong feet, not to mention didn't tie one entirely - did no one notice that? You've pulled your hair back to ensure it wasn't obscuring your view or bothering you. You dress simply, efficiently, actively. You probably do some track and field at school, seem to have an athletic build. Thus, you're used to carrying yourself long distances. Why does that matter? Because you've run from home. Run from your mother."

Beth gets a wide eyed look.

"How do I know that? Your watch and bag. The bag, first: Far too small for you, the straps only just go around your arms. It's wearing out in spots, but you seem to have stitched it up a few times here and there. You care for this bag. Given the wear and tear, it has to be at least eight years old. So's the watch, from what I gather from the model. That's not the kind of watch you see in stores lately, certainly not one for your age group. You've poked holes in the band so you can keep wearing it even as your wrist widens out, so you care about the watch. If I may?" He holds out his hand, indicating he wants to examine it. Beth undoes it and hands it to him. "You're due for another poke, by the way. You have red marks on your wrist. It's too tight. Now, then, you've had the battery changed several times. The back has several pry marks, and the screw's been undone just as many times. So, even though you could have gotten a decent new watch, probably of a similar color, but not quite as bulky or small as this, you still insist on keeping this one. Why?"

Beth opens her mouth to answer, but Sherlock stops her, handing her back her watch.

"No, don't answer. Just tell me if I've got this right: These were the last two things you ever received from your father, and you wanted to bring them with you. To prove to him that you still care and only want to live with him. That, and you don't care about anything else your mother may have given you since your parents split."

Silence. Beth just stares at him. Wide eyed, slack jawed.

"Wow," she whispers. "So, how do you know my dad?" Sherlock stares off a moment and starts muttering to himself.

"Right, he couldn't have told you, and I'm never mentioned in police reports." He quickly switches back to a normal volume, and retains eye contact with Beth. "He's the man I work with most when I'm on police cases. Old friend. We met not too long after the divorce," he answers. I'd never heard this before. Only thing I'd ever heard about them meeting was back during our first case. Greg mentioned back then that he'd known Sherlock for five years, and yet he didn't know Sherlock any more than I did.

"What's he been like?" she asks. Sounds like she really doesn't know anything about her dad, the way he is now. It's heartbreaking, being Greg's friend and a father myself. In reply to her question, a familiar voice is at the doorway.

"Why don't you ask me myself?"


	2. 2

**A/N:** It's currently June 2013 in this story, for the curious. Over a year since the first one took place. The Sherlock Holmes series belongs to ACD. The programme Sherlock belongs to Gatiss and Moffat.

The Viewpoint of DI Greg Lestrade

There she is. My little girl. Though, she's not so little anymore. Eight whole years. Well, in four more days, anyway. On the 25th. She'll be thirteen. Wow. Just the thought that I'm going to be the father of a _teenager_...

I'm smiling at her. I probably look a lot different to her, too. Not as big compared to her as I used to be, though maybe a bit rounder round the middle... More grey, a bit wrinkled. But, it's still me. I hold out my arms a bit, letting her know it's okay. Even though, it really isn't.

"_Dad_!" she exclaims finally. She rushes to me and just tackle-hugs me. She's squeezing so hard. She doesn't want to let go. Frankly, neither do I. We just stand there in our embrace for a minute at least. She's shaking a bit. Sobbing into my shirt. It's taking all I can to make sure I don't start crying myself. Though, I know I'm watering up a bit. "I missed you. I missed you so, so, so, so, _so_ much!" she says, a bit muffled by my shirt.

"I missed you too, cave girl," I reply, using her old nickname.

"'Cave girl'?" John questions. I laugh a bit at the look on his face.

"Her full name is Bethany Christine. Initials are 'B.C. Cave men lived in B.C., so I call her my little cave girl," I explain. John smiles warmly at that. Beth then lets go when I do. I hold her shoulders. "God, look at you! You've gotten so tall! Gonna have to start putting cinder blocks on your head or something."

"Daaad," she exasperates, complete with eye roll. How I missed that. We both giggle.

"Surprised to see you here, Lestrade," Sherlock says. I, of course, know what he means by that. I'm not supposed to be here. 'Least not while she is. And he knows that.

"I know. It's just... well, I ran into _him_ today. He said she was kidnapped, and _I_ was the one who did it," I reason.

"And if he, or anyone else _but _us, sees you with her he may try to _prove _that along with claiming John and I were aiding and abetting."

"Aiding and abetting?" Beth parrots. I sit her down on the sofa. I sit next to her.

"Look, Beth... I'm not supposed to be here. If anyone sees me here, I could get arrested."

"But you're a cop! You can't get arrested!" she protests. I put a finger to her lips to let me finish.

"Shh... You're right, I am a cop. Because of that, I'd be in even _more _trouble. See, your mum put a restraining order on me. I can't be near you or your brother." Beth looks upset. Rightly so.

"For how long?" she asks, her voice shaking a bit.

"For another three days. So, we're going to have to pretend this didn't happen. Okay?" I ask. She nods.

"So, why are you here, if you'd be breaking the order?"

"Well..." I start, rubbing the back of my head, "I saw your step dad earlier. He came into my office and told me that you'd gone missing. Though, he said the reason you had was because I took you."

"Wha? You'd never do that!"

"_I_ know that, and _you_ know that, but your step dad's... well, he doesn't like me. And, I can see you don't like him either, you little thief, you."

"Thief?" John intones. Beth gives me her old "I didn't do nothing" look. I reply with my "Oh, yes you did" look. Beth then slumps, takes off her backpack and opens it.

"I just took his travel stuff..." she says.

"And...?" I add, knowing there was more.

"...And £50 from Toby's billfold," she admits. Though, I'm surprised to hear her call him by name. "I've only got £23.44 left."

"What did you take those for?"

"I wanted to find you. I wanted to warn you that they're coming," she explains. They? "Mum and Toby. And Carter, too, 'course."

"They're all coming here?" Sherlock inquires. Beth nods. Sherlock starts pacing the room. "Now why would they come here?"

"I dunno. Toby said he needed work, so he transferred up here."

"Why are you calling your step dad Toby?" I ask.

"Cause I don't like him. He's not my dad. You are." I'd melt if I wasn't so concerned.

"Now, that... that's not nice."

"Dad, I'm twelve. Almost thirteen," she retorts.

"I know that. I've kept track," I assure her, tapping my forehead. "Still, that's not the best course of action. He's still your legal guardian."

"I don't want him to be though! I don't like him. He's mean." That catches my attention. And, John's from his face.

"What do you mean, 'mean'?" John asks.

"Well, he's always pickin' at me. Sayin' stuff like my hair is too brown, or I'm too tall, but in a mean way, not like you were doin' it a second ago. He doesn't like that I'm takin' track and field. Thinks I shouldn't be so athletic. Mum agrees. She thinks I'll end up looking all bulky," she complains.

"Now that's rubbish. You'll be strong, not bulky. And, you're not too tall. And your hair isn't 'too brown.' Believe me, I'd rather have my brown hair again." She giggles at that last part.

"Even so, as you said, they are her legal guardians. We really _will _be kidnapping if we don't give her back," Sherlock warns. I know. I know. So does Beth. And I don't want any of us to get into trouble. "Where are they staying?"

"In a hotel. At least Toby is," Beth answers. I give her a small look. "My step dad."

"Idea: Lestrade, you head out now before anything happens, John will call in and report that we found her, she'll be picked up by Gregson," Sherlock offers.

"That's a very sound plan, but..." I'm not sure how I'll end that sentence, but I just don't want Beth to feel uncomfortable. This is her first time back in London in eight whole years. And she tried coming here alone. Sherlock comes over to me, leaning into my ear.

"If anything happens, we'll protect her. From Gregson, if necessary," he whispers. That makes me feel a little better.

"Better head out, then. Don't worry, cave girl. I'll see you soon. Love you," I say, pecking Beth on the head.

"Love you too, dad." With that, and with a heavy heart, I regrettably walk back down the seventeen steps and head out.

The Viewpoint of Mr Sherlock Holmes

Once Lestrade leaves and he's out of sight, I signal for John to call in the report. I then sit with Beth on the sofa, since I can see that she's upset.

"It'll be alright. We know what we're doing. You'll just have to trust us, alright?" I say. Beth nods. I then ponder a moment. She's not all too happy anymore. She seems a little worse for wear. When John gets like that, he usually makes himself a cup of tea. So, I decide that as my next course of action.

"Yes, she came here. ...No, no, she's still here. Yes, she only arrived a few minutes ago. ...Looks alright. No bumps or bruises or anything. Don't think she's sick, either..." I hear John on the line with the police. He's doing rather well. He ends the call shortly thereafter. "Someone'll be round to pick you up soon," he says.

"Hopefully not before the tea's done," I add.

"Since when do you make tea?" John notes incredulously.

"Since I realised that Beth could probably use some. Perhaps some biscuits, as well?" I offer. John looks at me as if... well, if I weren't me. "John, this isn't the first time I've been genuinely accommodating," I tease.

"I know that..." he answers. Beth starts giggling again.

* * *

><p>About fifteen minutes later, there's a squad car outside the door. Out pops the fairly familiar frame of Tobias Gregson. Even after all these years, I still remember him. He certainly hasn't aged that well. Clearly using fake hair colouring, still has that moustachebeard look. Sort of like how that... Oh, what's his name... Connery or what have you has it. I looked him up online not too long after I was... subjected to that Bond marathon. He's put on weight. Probably about... seventeen pounds since I last saw him.

He pounds on the door. I wave for John to answer since he was the one who placed the call. John walks down, and I listen by the sitting room door.

"Are you Doctor Watson?" Gregson asks. His voice has certainly gotten rougher. More like he's been gargling rocks. Or taking up smoking, either one.

"Yes."

"I'm Detective Inspector Tobias Gregson. I'm the girl's stepfather. Might I come in to fetch her?" He's putting on airs. Sounding more kindly. Fake kindly. He's not happy by this at all. Best keep a close watch of him.

"She's upstairs. If you'll follow me." I hear John and Gregson come up the steps. I put my hand up to instruct Beth to stay on the sofa. I see John's face first. It says it all: _I don't like him. Nor trust him._

"There you are!" Gregson exclaims, putting on those false airs still. "Been looking all over for you. So glad you're alright. I-" He pauses as he notices I'm in the room. "Homes, was it?"

"Holmes. There's an 'L' in there," I correct. He never could say my name right. "Hello, Gregson."

"What brings you here?"

"I _live _here. This is mine and Doctor Watson's flat."

"Oh, of course. Well, thank you both for watching my stepdaughter. Come along, now, Beth. Let's go." Beth isn't moving. She's just staring at him. "Come on, Beth." She still sits. "Bethany Christine..." Gregson warns. Beth cringes, but stands her ground. Or, sits, rather. "Come on!"

"I don't wanna go back," she rebels.

"You're coming back whether you like it or not. Now come. On!" he bellows, taking her wrist.

"No!"

"Bethany, this is not the time nor the place to be getting smart with me. We're going." He then pulls her up from the sofa.

"That hurts! Let go!" Beth laments.

"I don't care, we're going," Gregson states. That's it. The moment I figured would come about. I step in front of the door. "Wh- What do you think you're doing?"

"Let her go. Let me see her wrist."

"What?"

"It's a fairly simple request. Her wrist," I repeat.

"Who do you think you are? A corrections officer? Come on, you can't tell me how to treat my kids."

"She's not your child. She's your stepchild. Remove your hand from her wrist. She has already ordered you to release her and yet you have not, I believe that counts as harassment. Which is, if I recall, a punishable offense. As done by a parental figure or legal guardian, that's grounds for investigation of a child abuse case, is it not, _Detective Inspector_?"

With that, he lets go. John takes a look. Gregson had clamped down on the same wrist that she wore her watch. John carefully removed the watch and examined her wrist. It was red, indented from the watch. On the inside of her wrist, it appeared as though the metal buckle had cut into her. Upon a second glance, I observe other such scars around the same area. This has happened before...

"Let me get you a plaster for that," John says, going for his first aid kit.

"That wasn't a very kind thing to do. I think that you're not suitable for her to stay with," I state. Gregson looks at me flabbergasted.

"What?" he says again.

"You've caught her wrist in your vice grip before. And, just as now, you've dug that metal buckle into her arm. I'd say that makes you an unsafe, daresay hazardous, person for her to be around. I should think that you ought to let her stay elsewhere."

"Elsewhere? Like where? Here?"

"No, we've no suitable room for her. But I'm sure there's others she could stay with. My girlfriend, for example, lives alone and in a very nice flat not too terribly far from here. She's a very trustworthy woman, as I could easily, and am currently, vouch for." While this probably isn't the best thing to do to one's significant other, sticking a child on them that isn't yours or theirs out of literally nowhere, she is the first person I would rather see Beth staying with since she can't stay here and can't be with Lestrade.

"...Let me phone my wife," he says after a sigh. "Hey, honey. Yeah, I found her. You remember that Homes fellow?" It's _'Holmes_'. There's an _L_. "Yeah, that one. She went to his place trying to find- ...No, no, she didn't. I'm sure. Listen, honey..." He looks over his shoulder and proceeds to whisper into the phone. He then returns to his usual volume. "Yeah. Look, honey, I'm sorry. ...Right. Okay. Yeah. Sure, I'll see. Love you too. Bye now." He hangs up the phone. "She said Beth can stay with whoever it is."

And that was that. He left. Shows how much he cares. Also shows how much _she _cares for her own daughter. Yes, I've mistaken the love a mother has for her child, even if it never really lived, but still. In any case, I text Maria.

_Hello, love_, I type. She insists on pet names. Adds to the experience.

_Would you mind having a house guest for at most three days?_

_SH x_ Again, the 'x' is another of her suggestions.

She replies not too long after.

_Who is it?_

_Maria x_

_12 going on 13 year old girl. Lestrade's daughter. Needs somewhere to stay until restraining order's out._

_SH x_

It takes a good three minutes before she replies again. I hope this doesn't start a row of any sort.

_I can't. I work late nights, you know that. _

_I can't watch a 12-yr-old for that long. Sorry, love._

_Maria xx_

Of course not. I'd ask Molly, but she's not talking to me for some reason. John thinks it might be jealousy. What could she possibly be jealous of? Either way, I can't think of any other women that I know she could stay with. Statistically, she'd be much more comfortable at her age staying with someone her own gender. So, Maria's out, Molly's out... No. No, I can't ask _her_. She'd never agree. Plus, I'm the one who'd be asking. She'd think I was delirious.

The Viewpoint of Sgt Sally Donovan

"Are you delirious?" I shout into the phone. That freak, trying to put me on babysitting duty? I mean, of course I'd be more than willing to help, since it's Lestrade's daughter and all. But _him_ asking me? Really?

"No, I'm not. And I knew you'd say that. The point is, will you let her stay with you?" he asks, a bit annoyed. Like he has any right to be. Though, I am fairly free. No major cases riding up on me. Desk work's just about done. Got nothing else to do, really.

"Sure. Have someone bring her round to my place this evening. I'll have the place ready by then."

This'll be an interesting weekend.


	3. 3

**A/N:** I've decided to try something with Donovan's dialogue. When it's written from her point of view, I don't write out her accent since she knows in her mind what she's saying. However, from another character's perspective, I do write it out since that's what they hear. If you do or don't like this choice, do let me know. I welcome any and all feedback. The Sherlock Holmes series belongs to ACD. The programme Sherlock belongs to Gatiss and Moffat.

The Viewpoint of Sgt Sally Donovan

Well, this is certainly new. I haven't had a house guest since... well, since I was still living at home. That was ages ago. But, I'm doing this for Lestrade. I remember when Gregson left. I wasn't even a sergeant yet back then. I was there when Lestrade was promoted to Detective Inspector. Believe it or not, he recommended my promotion.

Before that point, though, there were all these rumors about why Gregson left. And all of them seemed to point to Lestrade. Not one to trust these rumor mills, I decided to go straight to the horse's mouth, or what have you. Hear it from him. So, I asked him, and he showed me a photograph of his kids. Told me the whole story. Because since then we've gotten a new Super, I'm the only other one at the Yard who knows. I don't think even Anderson knows the whole story. I've never told it, since I promised Lestrade I wouldn't. Though, I think the freak knows it. Makes sense since I first heard his name around the time this was all happening.

Anyways, that's why as soon as I heard Gregson was coming back I wanted to make sure Lestrade knew ahead of time. So he could be ready. Though, I don't know just how ready one can be for a storm of that magnitude.

I glance over at the clock in my sitting room and see that it's about 7:15. There's a knock at the door. I look through the peephole, and there he is, all six-foot whatever of him, dark rat's nest of hair and sickly pale skin. I open the door.

"Hello?" I answer.

"Brought Beth over," he says, looking at the girl. She's a lot taller than I was expecting. Then again, she's almost thirteen, so I suppose it makes sense. Comes up to about my shoulder.

"Heya," she says looking up at me.

"Hi. Come on in, Beth. Thanks, Holmes," I say. I've started calling him by name aloud to appease John. It really started after John came back alone after the whole Richie... Riker...Knickerbocker Falls-or-whatever-they're-called situation. The fury in John's eyes when I asked where he was... I shake my head slightly to get myself back in order. Freak's still standing at my door, while Beth's come inside. "I'll keep you updated. Bye." I then shut the door in his face.

"You don't like him very much, do you?" Beth asks.

"Nope. Not really," I reply. "Well, make yourself at home. The guest room's just upstairs. It's the one with the pink and green wallpaper. Mine's the one with the blue and yellow. Right across the hall. You need anything, knock or yell, okay?"

The Viewpoint of Mr Sherlock Holmes

Well, that was abrupt. At least I got Beth here safely. I get back in the cab and ask him to take me back to Baker Street. As we start down the road, I think about what Sally said. She called me Holmes again. Not "freak" like she used to. I'm surprised. There's still the tone of resentment, but at least she's being more formal about it. I wonder what brought on that change? She must have been thinking about it. Probably why she shook her head a bit the way she did. Whatever memory she was drawing from, it had quite the impact on her. Perhaps it was something Lestrade or John said? I decide to ask John once I get back home.

The cab stops at 221b, I pay the cabbie and step out. When I do, I see someone standing at my door.

"Lestrade?" I ask. He turns around.

"Hey, Sherlock," he says. "How's Beth?"

"Fine. I dropped her off with Donovan a few minutes ago," I state. Lestrade nods. "You can come in if you want to. Door's unlocked," I tell him, opening the door.

"Oh. Right. Thanks."

I sit in my armchair, John's sitting at the desk typing away, probably working on another blog post, and Lestrade sits in John's usual chair with a cup of tea from a brew John started before I left with Beth. He seems a bit shaken. Upset.

"What's wrong?" I gently ask. Lestrade looks up at me, his eyes a bit watery.

"Just... remembering that day," he answers quietly.

"Ah," I say, knowing exactly what he means. The day of the divorce hearing, as well as the custody hearing. I look over and John seems puzzled. "Right, you don't know the story, do you, John?" John shakes his head.

"You didn't tell him?" Lestrade asks.

"No, because you had me promise not to tell anyone at all," I remind him. Lestrade sighs, sets his tea down on the end table and sits up a bit.

"You... don't have to tell me if you don't want to," John intones. But Lestrade shakes his head.

"Nope. Best to let you into the loop. Well, John... It was eight years ago. Back then I was still Sergeant Lestrade, not Detective Inspector. I was asked to work with a DI on a case by the Superintendent - not the one we have now, a different one. The one I'm talking about retired roughly... seven years ago, I think. Anyway, that DI I was going to work with was Tobias Gregson, Toby for short-"

"The man who tried taking Beth earlier today," I clarify. "Sorry for interrupting."

"That's alright. So, yeah, him. Seemed like a nice guy. The Super introduced us, then immediately set us on our first, and so far only, case together."

_The Viewpoint of Sgt Greg Lestrade_

_"...You'll be starting with this," the Super tells us, handing Toby the case file. He starts flipping through it, makes a few faces, closes it and thanks the Super who then heads back to his office._

_"What've we got?" I ask Toby._

_"A couple reports of people saying that they've had statuettes stolen from their home and found in pieces outside. One of them spotted a man rummaging through the remains, and then bolting off," he says. Well that's odd, and I say so. Toby chuckles a bit. "Yeah, I do get some of the weird ones. The statuettes were reportedly from the same maker, as well as from the same mould. They're scale models of the statue of Venus."_

_"What, this guy hate Greek goddesses or something?" I remark. Toby shrugs._

_"I dunno what his deal is. Either way, we best keep an eye on this. We'll set to interviewing these two and start with that."_

_We're about to head out to do so when one of the other officers runs up to us. A woman. Fairly new. I think it's Davenport or something. The one who drops her consonants._

_"Jus' go' a repor'. There's ben a murder, an' i' looks like a small statue was th' weapon," she reports. A statue... could be connected to our case. I tell Toby so, and he agrees. So, we head off with the officer, who I read the name tag of and see that her name's Donovan. Right. I'll try to remember that._

_"Why'd you come running to us, Donovan?" I ask on the way to the crime scene._

_"Well, I overhear' you an' th' Super talkin'. Couldn' 'elp it. Sorry," she apologises. I give her a breif smile to let her know it's alright. Sharp girl. I'll try to remember that, too. When we get to the scene, a small group of PCSOs are trying to keep the public out._

_"Good grief. This is a crime scene, not a spectacle," Toby bemoans. "Detective Inspector Gregson. This is Sergeant Lestrade and Constable Donovan." He flashes his badge to let us through the tape._

_Once inside, the first, and easiest thing to spot, is the body. A man, probably in his 30s or 40s, head smashed in. Also, a few feet away, are the remains of a porcelain statuette. From the head which is still partly intact, we can figure that it's another of the Venuses. Not sure why it's all the way over there, though. Could've been dropped in a hurry, after the thief realised he'd killed the guy. A crime tech is taking pictures. I've seen him around before, he's been here for a few years. Never did get acquainted with him._

_"The victim's been dead at least three hours, when it was still dark," he says, his voice a bit nasaly. Sounds kinda stuck-up if you ask me, but that could just be his voice. "To be specific, time of death estimated at 5:15 this morning, give or take fifteen."_

_"Thanks, Anderson. Lestrade, what do you make of it?" Gregson asks me. I'm a bit surprised he would, since I'm not the detective here. Still, I make sure my gloves are on tight and start examining. Rifling through pockets and such._

_"Well, found his pocketbook. It's full. ID says his name is Pietro Venucci. 37," I read. I hand the pocketbook to Anderson who then puts it in an evidence baggie. As I start looking for a breast pocket, I find my hands running over something... crusty's the only way to describe it. I then unbutton the man's shirt. _

_He was stabbed._


End file.
